


A Little Kindness Keeps on Going and Going

by MinervaFan



Category: Star Trek: The Next Generation
Genre: Gen, Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-18
Updated: 2021-01-18
Packaged: 2021-03-16 04:35:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,644
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28825323
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MinervaFan/pseuds/MinervaFan
Summary: New ship, new crew, same Starfleet! Two of Starfleet Medical's finest become unlikely bad girls at Starfleet's notorious Sensitivity Training Course.
Kudos: 7





	A Little Kindness Keeps on Going and Going

**Author's Note:**

> Sequel to A Little Kindness Goes a Long Way. https://archiveofourown.org/works/28825269

Beverly Crusher sat in the back of the classroom, trying to keep her eyes open. Between the tedious lectures on experimental procedures and the pseudo-intellectual jabber of the tired social get-togethers, the week-long medical conference had seemed like years to her. Crusher rubbed her eyes. She had spent the better part of the previous evening listening to a balding Deutorian doctor extemporize on psychic healing while he tried to goose her under the table.

The other students were milling around the conference table, apparently as thrilled to be in this mandatory sensitivity seminar as she was. Where Crusher really wanted to be was in bed with a Bloody Mary trying to recuperate enough to beam back to the Enterprise and reality.

An older woman took the seat next to her at the table. She smiled at Crusher, noting the tired look on the doctor's face. "I recommend two more hours sleep, a good detox pill and..." she smiled wickedly, "a trip to the local holo-pleasure facility."

Crusher laughed. "Well, I'd appreciate the detox pill, but judging by the male companionship available at this convention, I think I'll just hug my pillow, thank you."

The woman cast an appraising eye on the other class members, then nodded emphatically in agreement. "You certainly have a point. My name's Kate--"

"Helllloooo, students!"

Their conversation was abruptly halted by the entrance of the class's two facilitators. One was a drop-dead gorgeous human male, with jet black hair and knee-weakening green eyes. Crusher turned to her companion and lifted a single eyebrow wickedly. "Then again, maybe my pillow will have to make other arrangements. He's cute!"

Kate grunted and shook her head. "Too cute, if you ask me. Hundred credits says he still lives with his mother."

"Yeah, and he probably has a really big thing for antiques--"

"My name is Arturo Chartreuse. I'll be your facilitator for today--"

"Oh, yeah," Crusher whispered, sotto voce, "Antiques and Judy Garland."

"Shh..."

Chartreuse clapped his hands together. "Now, people, let's come to order. We've got a lot to cover today, and we won't get anything done with us all talking at once. As I said, my name is Arturo Chartreuse, and my partner for this class is Melinda McGillicuddy."

"Fake name!" Kate whispered.

Chartreuse glared at Kate, a look of disdain on his perfect, Greek god features. "Would you like to share your conversation with the rest of the class, ladies?" Crusher and Kate gulped simultaneously and shook their heads to the negative. "Very well, then. Shall we establish some ground rules? Rule number one--" He cast a purposeful glance at the two unruly women. "No side conversations. When one of us is expressing ourselves, I expect all of the group members to listen without interruption."

McGillicuddy nodded in agreement. She was a tall woman-- _really_ tall. Crusher figured she was at least two meters tall, and gangly to boot. Not exactly primed to play Juliet, Crusher thought cattily as McGillicuddy circled Chartreuse, adding to the list of rules. "Number two, leave your work in your office. No computers, printouts or anything else. Rule number three--"

"--is punctuality," Chartreuse finished exactly on cue. "You will be allowed a generous amount of breaks during the course of the day, but you will be expected to return on time. It is unfair to the other members of the class when you are not on time."

As Chartreuse and McGillicuddy turned towards the other side of the class, Kate leaned over and whispered in Crusher's ear, "I feel like I'm back in grammar school."

"Shh," Crusher warned jokingly. "Rule number one."

"And Rule Number Four is the most crucial one of all," McGillicuddy said sternly. "No rank. I don't care if you're an admiral or a CPO, in this class, we're all equal."

"Another hundred credits says they haven't changed this spiel in eighty years," Kate whispered again.

"Shhhh..."

"Ladies, do we have a problem?" Chartreuse turned on the pair impatiently. Again, the scarlet faces and sheepish nods to the negative. 

Crusher turned a scathing look at her neighbor. Despite the fact that they had never met, Kate seemed familiar, but she couldn't place the face. As Kate grinned wickedly, Crusher knew this woman was going to be trouble.

* * *

"Now, Arturo and I are going to do a bit of role-playing."

Crusher groaned, rolling her eyes in Kate's direction. Despite the fact that they had been sitting here for two hours, Crusher still couldn't place the woman's face. Kate, on the other hand, was busy scribbling graffiti in the top of the desk with a nail file. Crusher looked surreptitiously over her shoulder, then stifled a laugh. Kate had scrawled into the desktop, "Humpty Dumpty was pushed." 

McGillicuddy and Chartreuse had arranged themselves in a mock office situation and were demonstrating the proper method of handling interpersonal conflict on the job site. Crusher noted, quite seriously, that she had not seen acting this bad since she'd innocently miscast Worf in "Barefoot in the Park."

"Remember, the three golden phrases of interpersonal communication are 'I appreciate,' 'I understand' and 'How can I help?'"

Kate leaned over and growled, "I'll tell you how you can help. Give us another break. I have to go to the bathroom."

"Shh...." Crusher was beginning to wish she'd just stayed in bed. Unfortunately, this class was mandatory for all personnel, including slightly hung-over CMO's who really just wanted a couple of days vacation. "I'm not staying after for detention because of you, Kate, so just keep your comments to yours--"

"Well, Bev," Chartreuse smiled in her direction, "Since you seem to know this better than your classmates, perhaps you'd like to give us an example of the proper way to deal with this situation."

Crusher shrugged. She, of course, hadn't heard a single word. In a stray moment of insolence, she started to suggest a barium enema, but thought better of it and held her tongue. "I really don't know," she said sweetly.

McGillicuddy frowned. "Bev, you do remember that this course is mandatory, don't you? I'd hate for you to have to repeat it. Now, Brad, can you tell us how to handle this situation?"

Brad, who was bright purple and weighed easily half a ton, smiled smugly. "I'd let her know I appreciated her effort, I'd express my empathy for her situation, and I would try to find a way to assist her in repairing the damage."

"Excellent, Brad," McGillicuddy said with a side-long glance at Crusher. "Perhaps, during lunch, you can help Bev get all of this down."

__

I'd rather eat live worms, Crusher thought violently in the man's direction. His smile faded on contact with her expression, and Brad turned quickly back to the instructors.

Kate, in a voice that on another day might have sent Crusher into a fit of giggles, muttered, "Gee, Bev, I think Brad likes you."

" _Shhhh_ ," Crusher hissed. She should have just stayed in bed.

* * *

Crusher bit into her sandwich, trying to wish away the headache which was pounding on the inside of her skull like bongo drums. When Kate sat down next to her, she rolled her eyes skyward. "Gee, Kate, I think Brad was looking for you."

Kate laughed as she bit into her hero sandwich. "Sorry about that. I seem to have a slight problem with authority figures. My last boss can testify to that."

"Oh, do you change bosses often?"

At that, the older woman smiled sheepishly. "I suppose I deserved that. This class is getting the better of me. And it doesn't help that every time Arturo says his name, I want to laugh. Where did he get that moniker, anyway, on the back of a cereal box?"

"It does sound like a stage name," Crusher agreed. She was staring at Kate. The woman seemed so damned familiar it was beginning to grate on her nerves; however, politeness forbid her to ask. Then again, Kate had proved beyond all reasonable doubt that she wasn't all that big on politeness. "You never answered my question."

"What question?" Kate asked through a mouthful of pastrami.

"About changing bosses. As in, do you change them frequently?"

"Oh, that. Well, not really. It's just my last boss was sort of the boss from hell. He was hung up on his former CMO, and took it out on me that I was replacing her."

Crusher shook her head. "Ooh, bad situation..." 

"Yeah. He even let her son stay on the ship while she went back to Starfleet medical."

"Her son?"

"I mean, everybody else seemed to like me--the bridge crew, the medical staff, even the brainchild himself. Everybody but The Bard."

It seemed for a moment that all of the blood evacuated Crusher's face. Brainchild son, The Bard, Kate...Kate... "Kate Pulaski?!?"

Kate looked up immediately. "Yes?"

"THAT'S WHERE I KNOW YOU--" When Chartreuse and McGillicuddy cast disapproving glances in her direction, Crusher lowered her voice and continued in a stage whisper, "That's where I know you from!"

Pulaski shook her head, not comprehending. "Do we know each other?"

"I'm the brainchild's mother!" Crusher laughed, then clarified, "I'm Bev--"

"Bev? Beverly? As in, Crusher?" Pulaski's face paled.

"YES!!"

"Oh, shit."

Crusher was laughing hysterically now. Chartreuse and McGillicuddy looked over from the table where they were sharing lunch with Brad and a few other goody-two-shoes. Crusher tried to stifle her laugh and paste on a look of respectability, but only marginally succeeded. When the two instructors looked away, she turned back to Pulaski. "I have been trying to figure out who you were all day!"

Pulaski now seemed positively green. "Listen, Doctor, I didn't mean anything I said about your son. It's just that this class is so long, and I'm so bored, and I never--"

"He _is_ a brainchild," Crusher admitted. "I remember your picture from the records. I haven't seen them since I recommended you...gods, how many years has it been?"

Pulaski, obviously relieved Crusher was seeing the humorous side of this, muttered, "I don't want to remember." She smiled as Crusher nodded in agreement. As an awkward silence fell on the two women, Pulaski continued, "So, what's up on the Enterprise?"

Crusher felt just as awkward. "Oh, well, Wesley--my son--"

"Yeah, I remember--"

"Is in the Academy."

"Oh, wonderful--"

"And Keiko O'Brien had a baby--"

"Keiko _O'Brien_?" Pulaski sighed. "It has been a while, hasn't it?"

Crusher laughed. "Time does seem to keep going whether you are aware of it or not, doesn't it? You know, Kate, you're not nearly as overbearing as Jean-Luc led me to believe."

" _Jean-Luc_?" Pulaski repeated in a cross between amusement and accusation. "You call him _Jean-Luc_?? Oh, now, isn't _that_ cozy!"

Crusher actually blushed under the older woman's teasing scrutiny. "We've known each other for years," she amended feebly.

"Uh-huh," Pulaski had a wicked grin on her face as she bit into her sandwich. "And I thought all those rumors about you two were just rumors."

Crusher smiled primly. "I'll never tell."

Pulaski laughed. "This day may not be such a waste, after all."

* * *

Crusher was not prone to clock-watching, but as the minutes ticked closer to five o'clock, she felt the overwhelming need to recheck the time each twenty or so seconds. With Katherine Pulaski seated next to her, an otherwise standard seminar had taken on completely ludicrous proportions. After they had realized each other's identities, the two women had been unable to maintain a straight face for more than a few minutes at a time throughout the afternoon. And as the clock ticked slowly towards the merciful end of the day, Crusher knew without a doubt that she was going to have to repeat this class.

"...and you will be informed of your score within the next few hours," McGillicuddy concluded. She paused when her gaze brushed over Crusher and Pulaski, then continued in a tired voice. "For those of you who have to repeat this class, we will have registration packets ready for next month's seminar by next week. You will receive them at your place of business shortly after that time. You are dismissed, and thank you for you cooperation."

Pulaski eased out of her chair, stretching with a tired yawn. "Well, I guess I'll be seeing you next month, Bev. Say hi to _Jean-Luc_ for me."

"Wait just one minute, madam," Crusher said quickly as Pulaski headed for the door. "It's your fault I flunked this class, and you're going to pay for it."

Pulaski laughed, a look of amused chagrin on her face. "Okay, Doc, what's the going rate for failed sensitivity?"

"Dinner and at least two Cardassian Suicides."

Pulaski chuckled. "Don't you have a meeting with _Jean-Luc_?"

Crusher grabbed the laughing Pulaski firmly by the arm and pulled her toward the door. "He can wait. You owe me. Big time."

"Yes, ma'am."

* * *

__

Captain's Log, Supplemental

Doctor Crusher has been on Sarvinian Three for one week, attending a medical conference. Although she was scheduled for beam-up two and a half hours ago, we have still had no word from her. Sarvinian Three is a thoroughly safe port of call; nevertheless, I am becoming concerned about the doctor.

"Any word from Doctor Crusher, Number One?"

"Nothing, sir." Riker leaned forward in his chair. "We have been trying without success to contact her for the last half-hour."

"Keep trying. If you haven't reached her in another--"

"Captain," Worf interrupted from the Security terminal. "Incoming message from the planet's surface."

"Main viewer, Mr. Worf."

"Audio only, sir. I'll put it through."

A woman's slurred voice came over the main bridge speaker, "Hellloooo? Is Chahoola Groola there?"

The bridge crew exchanged puzzled glances as Worf answered, "There is no one by that name here."

"Oh. Well, tell her I called." And the transmission terminated immediately. 

Picard turned to Worf, who looked as if he didn't want to talk about, then to Riker, who looked as if he was going to laugh, then leaned back into the command seat with a sigh. "I knew I should have stayed in bed this morning," he muttered under his breath.

* * *

Pulaski was choking on her fifth Cardassian Suicide as Crusher quickly clicked off the table communicator at the Chez What? "Beverly, I cannot believe you crank called the Enterprise!"

Crusher, who was at the top of her sixth Cardassian Suicide, laughed jovially. "Oh, Worf _loves_ that kind of thing. Why, he is just the funniest---"

"You are intensely drunk, Doctor, and I frankly do not want to be the main course in a Klingon buffet."

"Oh, lighten up, Katie. Weren't you the one with the problem with authority figures?" Crusher took a long swig of her suicide, then pulled the plastic flower out of the glass, sucking the excess elixir from its stem and sticking it decoratively in her hair. "So when did you develop a conscience?"

"Oh, maybe it was when I took a look at Worf's exercise program and realized that, with little or no effort, he could use me as a swizel stick." Pulaski took another gulp of her drink and motioned to the bartender for a round of refills. "After that, our Klingon friend commanded a hell of a lot more respect from this chief medical officer."

There was another beep at Crusher's commbadge, identical to the hails they had been ignoring for some time now. Crusher sighed. "It's not fair. You get to stay here and do research, while I have to go back and schedule monoxodil treatments for Mr. Clean."

Pulaski choked again. "Are you sure you aren't sleeping with him?"

"Please. Not only is he a complete party-poop, but he never shuts up." Crusher sighed. "I can't get a word in edgewise. I mean, we rescue a stranded away team, he gives a lecture. Save a dying planet, another lecture. That man has more soliloquies in him than Hamlet, Lear and Othello combined."

"He does seem to like the sound of his own voice," Pulaski agreed.

"For years, I've been trying to tell him something, but he always cuts me off. `Jean-Luc, there's something you ought to know...,' `Jean-Luc, there's something I have to tell you...'" Crusher shook her head. "It's been so long, I've forgotten what it was I wanted to say!"

"So I take it you're not sleeping with him."

Crusher snorted. "Honey, if I had my choice, I'd be back in my hotel room teaching Arturo Chartreuse a thing or two about... interaction." Crusher took a dejected swig of her drink. "But no, I get to go back with Yul Brenner while Arturo wastes that gorgeous face on Melinda Manillafolder."

Pulaski snorted. "Puh-lease. Anyone with a name like 'Arturo Chartreuse' is going to be more interested in interior decorating than in Ms. Manilla Melindacuddy." Pulaski screwed up her face, laughing, and tried again, "Matilda McSillyPutty."

"You're drunk. It's Magilla Marimbascully." She paused to catch her breath as the laughter racked her body. "Marimba Basillamuddy ...Fred. Her name is Fred."

"Fred," Pulaski repeated gratefully. "I can live with Fred."

Crusher laughed. "So can Arturo. I'm sure they'll be very happy together." As Pulaski burst into another round of giggles, Crusher added, "Hold that thought," and pressed the table communicator code again. As Worf answered yet another hail, she asked, "Is Chahoola Groola there?"

"I have told you, there is no one here by that name."

"Oh, well, tell her I called." Crusher hung up quickly as Pulaski burst into another round of choking laughter. "He loves that sort of thing," Crusher insisted, indicating the communicator. "Breaks the Big Guy to pieces. I swear."

As the bartender lay their fresh drinks in front of them, Pulaski sighed. "Oh, gods, I miss ol' Turtle Head. He was kind of uptight, but man, could he read Klingon poetry!"

Crusher looked pensively into her drink, the intoxication leading into inevitable moroseness. "You really liked it there, didn't you?"

"Sure, I did," Pulaski slurred. "It was like... _sniff_...a second home to me."

"That's beautiful," the younger woman insisted through another slurp of Cardassian Suicide.

"Yeah, just ducky. They were so excited about your coming home, that no one even bothered to throw me a going-away party!" Pulaski pouted.

"No!"

"Yes," the older woman insisted. "Nothing. No presents, no party, not even a `drop us a line, Katie.' Nada, zip, caput."

"Makes ya just want to cry, doesn't it?"

Pulaski downed the remaining portion of her sixth Cardassian Suicide sullenly. "No. Don't worry about me. _I'm_ Doctor Bitch; _I_ don't care if anybody likes me."

"That's ridiculous," Crusher grumbled. "You know what I'm going to do? I'm gonna let you have the send-off you never had." She fumbled with the communicator on her blouse, pinning it firmly to Pulaski's bosom. She then plucked the older woman's communicator off Pulaski's shirt and pinned it to her own breast. "You go back to the Enterprise in my place. No, I mean it. I want you to." She smiled generously, putting a sisterly arm around Pulaski's shoulders. "They'll be so thrilled to see you, they'll probably throw you a party. Right there in the transporter room."

Pulaski stared foggily at Crusher, a look of tearful appreciation on her face. "You'd do that for me?"

"Sure, Katie."

Pulaski sniffed. "All right, then, it's a deal." She stood on wobbly legs, waiting momentarily for the room to stop spinning at warp seven, then remembered something. "Hold that thought," she said, leaning over to activate the table communicator. A weary-sounding Klingon answered the hail. "Hello, this is Chahoola Groola. Did I get any calls?"

* * *

O'Brien was getting bored. He didn't really mind transporter duty all that much, but sitting here waiting for Doctor Crusher to decide to come home was a little less action than he'd like. He'd been amusing himself with daydreams of heroically rescuing said doctor from ruthless Ferengi...but that was another story. All he could do now was wait for Captain Picard to decide to send a search team looking for Crusher. Given the Captain's track record, that could be days.

A beep from the communications console distracted him. "Enterprise, here," he said automatically.

"Chief O'Brien!" an overly enthusiastic Crusher slurred over the speaker. "How sweet of you to answer the call!"

"Doctor? Are you all right?"

"Oh, I'm wonderful, Miles. I'd love to come home, now, if you're not too busy."

O'Brien gulped. The doctor did not sound like she was prepared for what awaited her when the very annoyed Captain Picard got ahold of her. "Not busy at all, Doctor. Prepare for transport."

When the figure materialized on the transporter pad, O'Brien felt his day going from bad to worse. "Doctor...Pulaski?"

"CHIEF!!!" A very inebriated Kate Pulaski stumbled off of the pad in cheerful disarray. "You look marvelous!! Congratulations on the new arrival; I hear you're a daddy."

"Yes, well...thank you, Doctor....Pulaski. But, what are you--"

"Bev wanted me to have a going away party," she said in a mock whisper. "I want it to be a surprise."

"Oh, it'll be a surprise, all right," O'Brien said softly.

Pulaski put one finger shakily to her lips as she staggered to the door. "Don't say a word."

"Oh, no, not me." O'Brien smiled feebly as she left the transporter room for destinations unknown. "Maybe I should alert the bridge...Naaah!" And in the quiet of the now-deserted transporter room, Miles O'Brien considered seriously transferring to a deep space station...quickly.

* * *

Katherine Pulaski saw the corridors of the Enterprise with new, wondrous eyes. It had been years since she'd walked these halls. Somehow, they seemed...brighter, cheerier... _wobblier_ than she'd remembered. As she staggered towards the bridge, a few crewmen recognized her with shocked stares, but she silenced them with a quick "shhh." She didn't want anything to spoil the marvelous surprise. Oh, they would be sooooo thrilled to see her again. Worf and Troi and Riker and.... _Jean-Luc_!

* * *

Worf was already beginning to assemble the search team down in security. As Riker was about to leave the bridge to join him, the doors to the bridge swished open. His shocked expression mirrored those around him as none other than Doctor Katherine Pulaski stumbled on to the bridge. He made a faulty attempt to speak, but the obviously snockered Kate Pulaski quieted him quickly.

"Shh, Will, I want to surprise the captain." She headed toward the ready room, where a totally unsuspecting Picard was waiting. Riker made a half-hearted attempt to stop her, but she shook her head. "Don't worry, Will, we'll have plenty of time to talk later. Right now, I want to say hi to _Jean-Luc_." She entered the ready room without permission.

Riker considered warning the captain, but...naah.

* * *

"Chief Medical Officer, reporting for duty, sir." Pulaski executed a sloppy military salute as Jean-Luc Picard went completely pale before her. "Hellloooo, _Jean-Luc_!"

"Doctor...what the--"

"I just couldn't let you leave orbit without stopping by for a cup of coffee and some--"

Taking in her all-too-cheery countenance and none-too-stable posture, Jean-Luc Picard was able to make a few quick deductions in logic. "Where is my chief medical officer?" he demanded.

"You mean Bev?"

"Bev?" Picard repeated incredulously.

"Oh, she's still in the bar. She loaned me her communicator so you could throw me a surprise going-away party." Pulaski grinned lopsidedly before adding, " _Jean-Luc_!"

"I demand to know what's going on here, Doctor!"

Pulaski crossed the short distance between her and the captain on wobbly legs. "Oh, just girl stuff. You know, a little cafe, some friendly conversation--"

"Doctor, have you been drinking?"

"Of course not, _Jean-Luc_. Merely celebrating the moments of our lives! With a dozen or so Cardassian Suicides," she amended with a touch of amazement in her voice.

"You have been drinking." Picard held his breath, counting slowly to ten. In her current state, Pulaski was not doing anyone any good. He spoke slowly, gently. "Now, Doctor, will you kindly tell me the whereabouts of Doctor Crush... _Bev_?"

"Sure!" The room began to sway before her. "Bev is--" That's all she managed before darkness fell on Katherine Pulaski.

Picard leaned over her prone body and pulled Beverly Crusher's communicator from the unconscious woman. With a tired grimace, he punched his own communicator. "Number One, I think we may have located Doctor Crusher..."

* * *

Crusher woke up to a stinging hang-over in Sickbay. She opened one eye warily, decided it was just too damn bright in there, and shut it again.

"Oh, so you've decided to join us, _Bev_."

Crusher knew that voice. If only the corpses of the ten zillion brain cells would move aside far enough to allow her remaining twelve brain cells to function, she was sure she'd place it in a month or so.

"We finally located you by scanning for Doctor Pulaski's communicator. I suppose you're going to tell me this was all a misunderstanding."

Those twelve brains cells were really kicking in now. Just a little while longer, and she'd know who was standing on her head with a sledge hammer, screaming in her ear.

"Or perhaps, a joke," the voice continued.

The brain cells, deciding it was not really worth the effort, gave up and called it a day. Crusher pried her eyes open, fighting the glare until she made out a largish brown blob. The largish brown blob wavered, pulling into focus until she recognized it as Captain Picard.

"I'm waiting for an answer, Doctor," Picard said.

His face was coalescing into an unsteady image before Crusher's eyes. She blinked hard, forcing the lines to hold more or less together as she tried to think of an answer which he would find acceptable. In light of the fact that she had no idea what the question was, this was proving to be somewhat difficult. "Huh?"

Picard shook his head. "Never mind. I shall expect a complete explanation from both you and..." His wavering face contorted into a disapproving frown. "...Doctor Pulaski when you are...up to it." With that, he pivoted sharply and disappeared into the hazy distance.

Crusher forced herself into a semi-sitting position on the bed. Pulaski? _Pulaski?_ What the hell did Doctor Pulaski have to do with anythin--? She groaned as the memory returned--the Chez What?, a total of thirteen Cardassian Suicides between them, and, oh gods, _crank calling the Enterprise!_ Crusher ordered her remaining twelve brain cells into active duty, trying to figure out how she was going to salvage the remains of her Starfleet career.

A groan from the next bed startled her. Crusher rolled over onto her side, noticing for the first time the pale remnants of what had once been Katherine Pulaski. The older doctor was an intriguing shade of green as she focused with bleary eyes on Crusher.

"Am I dead, yet?"

"No," Crusher said apologetically. "But give the captain a few minutes."

"Good," Pulaski moaned. "It'll be much better that way."

Crusher didn't answer, just nodded slowly as her head sank into the pillow. Dead would be okay. No little men on the head with sledgehammers pounding away. Crusher sighed happily as she began to drift back into sleep. Yup, just a little while longer...

"Ladies." A deep and none-too-happy masculine voice roused Crusher from her doze. She looked up carefully, allowing the room to stop swaying before she focused on the frowning visage of Lieutenant Commander Worf. From the look on his face, it was obvious the security chief was not here to recite poetry.

"Are either of you familiar with the name, `Chahoola Groola?'"

Crusher gulped and sank back into the pillow. She could hear Pulaski's harsh whisper from the next bed.

"Oh, yes, he _really_ likes that kind of thing, doesn't he, Bev?"

Crusher closed her eyes. There were some days, it just didn't pay to get out of bed.

The End


End file.
